Once Tasted: A Silver Creek Novel (2 page)

“Heck, we’ll put blueberries in anything he wants,” Maebeth offered as she picked up two orders of scrambled eggs and home fries for a table.

Everyone at the luncheonette knew Thomas loved blueberries, and they knew why. They’d been Aunt Ellen’s favorite fruit. She’d died fourteen years ago, but Thomas never missed an opportunity to order something with blueberries.

Mia’s smile lost its stiffness. “I’ll tell him,” she promised. It’d be fun to watch him gobble down a stack of gold and purple pancakes drowning in maple syrup and butter.

Nancy passed her the paper bag. “Can I get you anything, Mia? A lemon–raspberry muffin? A pecan roll?”

Her hips couldn’t afford either. “No thanks, I grabbed a latte.”

Nancy looked at the cup with undisguised envy. “I keep telling Charlie to get one of those espresso machines for here, too, but he doesn’t want those java junkies over at Spillin’ the Beans to go out of business.” Charlie Haynes owned both the luncheonette and the building that housed Spillin’ the Beans. Diversifying was the name of the game in this economy.

Mia tucked the mail more securely beneath her elbow, ready to say goodbye, just as Maebeth returned with an
order. She gave it to Lou behind the grill and then turned to Mia.

“So, did you hear? Reid Knowles is back from South Carolina.”

Leaving now would be too obvious, she thought with an inward sigh. “Yes, I caught you and Nancy saying as much.”

Maebeth didn’t notice her dry-as-dust tone. “You are so lucky to live next door to Silver Creek. I swear, if I were in your shoes, I’d be walking over to the ranch every day.”

Nancy snorted. “More like every hour.”

Maebeth shrugged off the teasing. “My ma told me a woman should never skip a chance to enjoy the finer things in life. I think most any woman would agree that Reid might very well be one of the finest. Am I right, Mia?”

“Actually, he’s not my type.”

Maebeth’s plucked brows rose. “Really?” she drawled. “My memory must be going.”

A blush crawled over Mia’s cheeks.

“Honey, it’s all right to admit it. That man is
every
woman’s type,” Maebeth said.

Nancy laughed in agreement.

With some effort, Mia smiled and injected a light tone into her voice. “I guess I’ll be the odd man out and leave him to your enjoyment, then.”

“Real generous of you.” Maebeth’s gaze swept over her. Mia knew she was taking in her thick and wildly frizzy hair—hair that Mia, at twenty-seven, still hadn’t found styling products capable of taming—her oversize button-down shirt, comfortably baggy linen trousers, and canvas sneakers. Maebeth wasn’t overly catty, but her satisfied smile spoke volumes. No woman who looked and dressed like Mia stood a chance at competing for Reid’s attention.

True enough. What Maebeth didn’t realize was that Mia could strap on a bra to make Madonna envious, squeeze herself into a skintight mini, and jam her feet into punishing dominatrix shoes, and Reid
still
wouldn’t notice her.

He would look right through her like he always did, as if she were Saran wrap.

It was true. She, Mia Bodell, had the dubious distinction of being the only female that Reid Knowles, modern-day Don Juan, couldn’t bother to check out, let alone flirt with.

Not that she cared.

It wasn’t as if she wanted Reid’s attention. She wanted more than a too-handsome-for-his-own-good cowboy. She wanted a man who was steady, dependable. Responsible.

“You off to work?” Maebeth asked.

“Yes. The grapes need inspecting.” She’d be watching over them like a mother hen until the harvest.

“Things are hopping over in your neck of the woods. Reid said the guest ranch is at full occupancy,” Nancy said.

No surprise there.

“And have you heard about the cowgirls’ weekend they’re holding at Silver Creek?” Maebeth asked.

“Um, no, I haven’t—”

“It sounds like such a blast.” Maebeth’s tone turned wistful. She leaned her hip against the counter, ignoring the customers waiting. “Quinn told me about it. There’ll be trail riding—natch—and tons of cowgirl stuff like roping and barrel racing. They’ll be offering spa treatments, too—Ava Day and her assistants from the salon are going over on Saturday. At night there’ll be entertainment, along with barbecues and karaoke. Nancy and I wanted to sign up—because how often can you go
on a fun-filled, luxury vacation five miles from home? But Quinn said they’re booked.”

Quinn was Reid’s younger sister and one of the women Mia liked best in town. By tacit agreement, Reid’s name was rarely mentioned when she and Mia got together.

“Silver Creek Ranch sure is doing a booming business,” Nancy observed. “The Knowleses really know what they’re doing.”

Mia flinched inwardly. What Nancy left unsaid was painfully obvious: The Bodells might be the Knowleses’ closest neighbors, but in terms of financial success, they were worlds apart.

Even in this tough economy, Silver Creek Ranch was thriving. And it wasn’t simply the guest-lodging part of the ranch that was turning a profit. A few weeks ago Mia had been in Wright’s, the hardware store, to buy some hoses, and had overheard two local farmers discussing how smart the Knowleses had been to keep their Angus cattle grazing this summer rather than sending them off to the spring sales. They were on track to fetch a good price at market.

Mia wished she and her uncle Thomas had half the Knowleses’ success. Of course, were that the case, they’d have to triple their efforts to prevent Jay from skimming off the profits to support an L.A. lifestyle that would make even an A-list celebrity blush.

The women were still discussing the upcoming event. “Maebeth and I are going to try to convince Reid to offer another cowgirls’ weekend later in the fall. Great idea, don’t you think?”

“I’m not sure honing my cowgirl skills would help me. Grapes don’t run, so I hardly need to learn how to toss a rope.”

Maebeth straightened. “We’re not talking usefulness, we’re talking fun! Doing something outside the box!”

Mia was pretty sure attending a cowgirls’ weekend would be the furthest thing from fun and the closest thing to torture she’d ever find in Acacia. She didn’t do the whole “hanging with the girlfriends” thing. She’d always been shy and, since high school, self-conscious. Other women seemed equipped with so much more protective armor. Thanks to years of Jay’s cruel taunts, Mia’s was riddled with chinks.

Her years at college and the graduate program she’d enrolled in at UC Davis had been easier. There she wasn’t a bull’s-eye for Jay’s spite. But upon receiving her degrees, Mia had come back to Acacia, to the only family she had and the only home she knew.

A small town, Acacia possessed all the virtues and vices—long memories being among them—inherent in that life. Though things were easier now that Jay was gone, Mia was still reclusive. While she enjoyed the occasional get-together with friends like Quinn or with other vintners, the idea of a weekend surrounded by boisterous women living out their cowgirl dreams held scant appeal.

She gave an easy shrug. “I doubt I’d have the time. What with the harvest and the crush, fall’s way too busy a period for us.”

Maebeth’s blue eyes swept over her. “That’s a shame. You’ve got to get out more, girl. There’s more to life than work, and it’s not like you’re getting any younger.”

Twenty-seven was not exactly over the hill. “I’ll be sure to keep my imminent decrepitude in mind.”

Maebeth merely grinned. “You do that.” Lou called out her order, and she went over and picked it up, carrying it to her waiting customers.

Mia wished Maebeth’s words hadn’t struck a nerve. The closest thing she had to a boyfriend these days was Andrew Schroeder. He worked as the cellar manager at Crescent Ridge, a large Napa winery. But with the
growing season upon them, they were lucky to schedule a date once a month. Hardly the fast track to a thrilling romance or a sparkling social life.

She decided to call him soon. Otherwise she really would be old and wrinkled before they reached the next stage in their relationship. For some reason she’d been holding back, always calling it quits to the evening and saying good night before he could suggest they take things into the bedroom. A candlelit dinner at Aubergine, a Sonoma restaurant they both loved, would remind her of the reasons she liked him—he was smart, funny, and cute in a Clark Kent nerdy way. Best, he knew a ton about wine. Once she committed to a relationship with Andrew, then surely a blue-eyed cowboy’s husky laugh wouldn’t make her breath catch.

Maebeth returned and leaned her jeans-clad hip against the counter. “So will you be coming down to The Drop tonight? It’s always fun when you do a blind taste test.”

Mia decided that Maebeth should consider getting a job on a cruise ship, rounding up the passengers for the night’s entertainment.

“And profitable,” Nancy chimed in. “I made twenty bucks betting on you last time. I love it when you out-geek the wine geeks, Mia.”

“I’m sure I’ll be down sometime soon.” But she knew she wouldn’t be wowing any of The Drop’s patrons with her ability to identify a wine with a single sip tonight.

Not if Reid Knowles was holding court.

M
IA LEFT THE
luncheonette, the mail tucked under her arm and the brown paper bag with Thomas’s muffin clutched in her hand, and walked down Main Street to where her truck was parked.

It was summer. The tourist season was in full swing, but Acacia was far enough off the beaten track that parking was never difficult. There was practically always a spot on one of the downtown’s four streets.

Many of the out-of-towners who found their way here were guests at Silver Creek Ranch. But at this hour of the morning they would either be enjoying a leisurely breakfast, sunning themselves by the pool, or out on a ride, following the miles of winding trails that covered the ranch. Depending on which trail the wrangler selected, Mia sometimes caught a distant glimpse of horses passing—flashes of copper, gray, and black against the vegetation. If they were loping, a telltale cloud of dust would rise in the wake of the hooves pounding the earth. Once the dust settled, Mia would return to training the vines to the trellis, pruning shoots, or weeding the aisle, while sending a silent prayer to the cosmos. It was a simple one: that when the hungry guests returned from their ride, the ranch’s waiters
would suggest pairing their food with a Pinot Noir grown less than half a mile away from where they’d ridden earlier that day.

She started the truck, eased out onto Main Street, and headed out of town before turning onto Route 128. With the traffic light and no joggers or cyclists in sight, she was free to enjoy the vibrant greens of the trees that bordered the winding two-lane road.

Her family’s home and vineyard was near the end of Bartlett Road, just beyond the turnoff for Silver Creek Road, the private lane that led to the Knowleses’ ranch. The Bodells’ own drive was much shorter. It only seemed longer because of the ruts that riddled it. Out of habit, she slowed to a crawl. Speeding risked trips to the mechanic, dentist, and chiropractor.

The less-than-perfect drive went nowhere in welcoming visitors or friends, but repairing it was way, way down on the list of budgeting priorities. Although her cousin hadn’t struck recently, he was bound to turn up, like a bad penny. When he did, he’d hit up Thomas for money, using lies and guilt to slice open his father’s heart and wallet.

Whatever money was left after one of Jay’s raids went into the vineyard or toward the crew’s salaries. Neither she nor Thomas would have it any other way. And their frugality had paid off, she thought, casting her eye with pride over the acres of neatly trellised grapes, their dewy bright green leaves glistening under the morning sun.

Over the rise, the weathered shingled farmhouse came into view, and her heart clenched. This had been her home since the age of three, when Thomas had brought her to Acacia after her mother’s death.

Parking the car in back of the house, she followed the uneven stone path to the front, thinking that she might find Thomas sipping his morning coffee on the porch,
one of his favorite ways to start the day. But there was no sign of him.

She opened the door and dropped her keys onto a tray of woven grapevines that she’d made in sixth grade for her aunt Ellen’s birthday. The keys jangled as they landed on a pair of pruners and a coil of wire.

“Thomas? Are you up?” she called.

She cocked her ear and heard the thump of footsteps from the master bedroom overhead. Satisfied, she crossed the living room on her way to the kitchen. The house had changed little since Aunt Ellen’s death. The furnishings were well loved but, to put it kindly, tired. The green floral-patterned sofa sagged in a shallow “U” in the middle, and its cushions had given up any pretense of being cushiony. Nonetheless, she picked them up and patted them, encouraging them to fluff as best they could.

Time and their cat Vincent’s claws had all but destroyed the arms of the beige and dark-pink armchairs, but she ran a hand over them, too, before straightening the magazines and books on the coffee table.

The dining room required no neatening, since it was rarely used in the summer, she and Thomas preferring to bring their dinner onto the porch. And though the wallpaper was a faded memory of what Mia’s aunt had chosen, and the trim cried for a fresh coat of paint, the mahogany dining room table still gleamed. It was Aunt Ellen’s favorite piece, and Mia dusted it every week, which was more than she did in her own room. There, the dust bunnies under her bed had grown so large they were clamoring for their own Facebook page.